


Breaking and Injuring, or Jolinar Needs an Aspirin

by A_Midwinter_Night_Dream86



Series: Jolinar Telvanni and the God of Mischief [3]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Breaking and Entering, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Gen, Jolinar needs help, Loki needs to chill, This is where it gets serious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-30
Updated: 2019-04-30
Packaged: 2020-02-10 12:07:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18660121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Midwinter_Night_Dream86/pseuds/A_Midwinter_Night_Dream86
Summary: Jolinar is beginning to regret letting Loki tag along with her. As long as the Stormcloaks don't arrest her for breaking into the Dragonborn's house, she should be fine, right?





	Breaking and Injuring, or Jolinar Needs an Aspirin

**Author's Note:**

> I actually wrote this part today. This is where my catharsis comes in. Gosh, I love that word.

"The Dragonborn is going to kill me," Jolinar Telvanni mumbled as the doors to Hjerim creaked open after a bit of deft play with the lock.

Before entering, she glanced over her shoulder in search of her unexpected companion. The so-called God of Mischief stood at the base of the steps, facing away toward the Palace of the Kings. Jolinar could almost hear the frown twisting his angular features from her position just inside the door. He was peculiar, that was certain. He spoke of strange things and reacted even stranger to things she found common and everyday. She was so caught up in her own mind that she almost didn't catch him speaking to her.

"—lives there?"

The Archmagister blinked. "I'm sorry?"

Loki didn't turn to her, but she could practically hear his eyes rolling in their sockets. "Who rules from that palace? Who is your lord?"

"Uh," that was a good question, actually. Skyrim has been trying to answer that second one for a while now. As Jolinar cast around for the right answer, she glanced down the street, only to see a Stormcloak soldier eyeing them with no less than a Galmar Stone-Fist level of paranoia. "You know what, it's freezing out here, isn't it? Come in side and I'll answer your questions."

"But I am not cold," rebutted the supposed god who claimed to be a Dunmer under his pretty boy persona.

"Well, I am!" she hissed, eyeing the guard from the corner of her eye. She felt his suspicion mounting like the charge of shock magic in the air.

"But are you not a runty frost giant as—?"

"Loki, now!" Jolinar crossed her arms. This entire situation made her uncomfortable. Sure, she was technically the Dragonborn's boss as well as her friend and Leara Rose-blade never explicitly said she couldn't borrow Hjerim if she was in town (which was all the permission a thief like Jolinar needed to borrow something), but Windhelm made her uncomfortable, the Stormcloaks usual distrust for her moreso, and this situation made all those sprouting seeds come full bloom.

The God of Mischief rounded to face her, his expression blank and lips thin, but at last he acquiesced and followed her into the small manor house. Jolinar shut and bolted the door behind them with relief; as long as they were inside, they'd be okay. She'd be okay.

"You have of yet to answer my question."

Jolinar nearly jumped to hug a support beam with a strangled gasp. The look of amusement on Loki's face at her reaction was enough to make her want to soul trap him and be down with it, but at two centuries of age, Jolinar liked to think she had more maturity than that.

"Right, that question...who rules this place. It's ah, it's complicated."

Loki's only response was to lift a questioning eyebrow. At least she could gauge his reactions face to face now. She didn't like speaking to someone's back.

"So, this is Skyrim," she said, making a wide gesture with her hands, "a part of the Empire of Tamriel. Except we've seceded from them, so actually we're not under the emperor. Skyrim is under a high king, but the high king kinda died, well, he was killed, and now we're technically in the midst of a civil war and it's all because of Jarl Ulfric, but I think we're winning because Leara—"

"Lady Leara? Is that you?"

For the second time that evening, Jolinar tried to embrace one of the beams holding the ceiling.

Thump, thump, thump! came down the stairs, and soon the Dragonborn's housecarl burst into the foyer to gape at them.

"Hi, Calder," Jolinar gave a meek wave. Beside her, Loki's chin lifted, probably in derision, or contempt. Yeah, definitely that one.

Before them, Calder continued his fish impression. And then he fainted.

"Well, that was unexpected," quipped Loki, sounding rather amused by this turn of events.

Jolinar wanted to bash her head into the floor, but Calder had already done enough of that for the both of them, so she settled for rubbing at her temples.

Well, by Oblivion, isn't this lovely?


End file.
